


Everything That You Are Not

by Mithen



Category: NXT, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Kayfabe Compliant, Yuletide 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tyler Breeze gets on the General Manager's bad side, he finds himself with six uggos sharing his Daytona Beach seasonal residence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything That You Are Not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [APgeeksout](https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/gifts).



> I could not resist my recipient's charming prompt! This story takes place in the month leading up to Takeover: [R]Evolution (thus Tyler's shifting confusion about whether the WWE is run by the Authority or a laptop and Sami Zayn's frustration levels).

Tyler Breeze stared down his hands. They were, he noted with distant pleasure, exquisite as ever: graceful, well-manicured, truly gorgeous. However, he couldn't help but notice they were currently clutching a steel chair. There were a couple of things wrong with this. First--he was _touching_ a tacky steel chair, most likely one some low-class slob had recently been resting their hideous posterior in. Crawling with uggo germs! He dropped it hastily, wiping his hands on his magenta tights, and realized that its clatter was drowned out by the rising boos of the crowd.

Which brought him to the second wrong thing: that he had apparently just used that steel chair to knock out Adrian Neville. The bell rang, and the ring announcer's voice sang out: "Your winner, by disqualification..."

The arena was swimming around Tyler, and he wondered if he might just pass out from the sheer humiliation of it all. Ever since Regal had announced that the winners of this week's matches would be touring America on the Exotic Express with the WWE, he had known-- _known!_ \--that he had to be on that party bus. All the beautiful people of the WWE were on it, and thus Tyler Breeze couldn't possibly bear to rob it of the pinnacle of perfection, the very jewel in the crown of sports entertainment, the king of cuteville, the definition of delish--

He could hear the announcers snickering, and he broke off his soothing mental litany to glare at them. "It’s not fair!" he yelled. "You _know_ no one deserves to be on that tour more than me!"

"Got news for you." Adrian Neville was rubbing the back of his head with one hand, but the referee was lifting the other above his head. He smirked at Tyler, and even in the midst of his despair Tyler took a moment to marvel at those ridiculous jug ears (how could he look himself in the mirror?) "I'm going to be the one on that bus with all the most promising stars of the WWE. Not you." He leaned closer. "I'm going to be the one with a chance to impress the Authority and move up to the big leagues. Not you."

It was true, Tyler realized. It had been his big chance to tour with the WWE, to impress Triple H with his charm and skill and glamor. And now it was all gone, gone to this grinning troll that prettiness forgot. It wasn’t _fair_!

“Never you, Breeze,” said Adrian Neville.

And that’s when Tyler grabbed the chair and clocked him with it a second time.

* * *

“--cannot overlook such a flagrant disregard for the rules,” said William Regal. “I’ve turned a blind eye to your behavior in the past, but--are you listening to me?”

“What? Oh, sure.” Tyler finished posting his latest selfie to Instagram ( _Meeting with the boss! See you soon #Raw! #mmmgorgeous_ ) and flashed a smile at Regal.

Regal took a moment before speaking to collect himself. Tyler saw that happen a lot when people talked to him--he suspected his beauty was sometimes overwhelming. “Breeze, I understand being self-absorbed. It’s not even necessarily a bad quality to have as a wrestler.”

“I’m not self-absorbed.” Tyler glanced at his phone. Five “likes” already! Things were looking good. Well of course they were! “I’m just that gorgeous.”

“Have you heard a word I’m saying? Do you even know why I’ve called you here?”

Tyler tilted his head charmingly and raised an eyebrow. “I assume to tell me that you’re impressed by my pluck and audacity, and have decided to send me on the Exotic Express instead of that English Ewok, Adrian Neville?” Regal opened his mouth and Tyler went on, “After all, look at the list of people going! They are all--besides Neville, an oversight you have surely called me here to correct--the least uggoistic and most promising of the roster. I mean, they all pale before my glory, but Alexa Bliss, Konner and Viktor, Sasha Banks, even that annoying Aiden English and his troglodyte sidekick are more good looking than anyone remaining behind! Well, besides Charlotte,” he added, “But she lost to Sasha, and you have to admit--”

“--I don’t have to admit _anything._ ” Regal was standing up now, scowling. “You listen to me, Breeze, and you listen good. I don’t know what you think you’re doing here at NXT--”

“Pfft! Being gorgeous, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“--But I’ve had it up to here with your unprofessional behavior.”

Tyler gave Regal a pitying look. “You were plenty unprofessional back when you had your looks. I guess when you’re over the hill, you have to fall back on being professional.”

Regal’s eyes narrowed. When he spoke again, his voice was very calm. “Breeze, as General Manager of NXT I’ve made a command decision.” Tyler started to open his mouth to accept his apology, but Regal rudely ran right over his words. “You are not going on the Exotic Express tour. In addition, you are going to provide room and board to the six losers of tonight’s matches for the duration of the tour.”

Tyler stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

“You’ve got a seasonal residence in Daytona Beach, right? Well, it’s about an hour commute. You’ll have six house guests for the next two months.”

Tyler realized his mouth was hanging open. “You--you’re joking, right? You can’t make me take in that tedious Sami Zayn, or Hideo Itami--he doesn’t even speak English! Charlotte at least isn’t gruesome, but Bayley?” He shot Regal an appealing look, which was met with a stony stare. “And-- _Enzo and Big Cass?”_ He had to resist the urge to pull on his beautiful hair. “You can’t do this!”

“I think,” said William Regal, “That you’d be surprised what exactly your contract allows me to do.” He leveled a damning finger at Tyler. “Six house guests for the next two months, Breeze--or you’re through in this business!” Then he smiled, a thin and reptilian smile of cold satisfaction, and Tyler realized he was holding up his own cell phone. 

A tiny shutter sound. 

“Let me just post this picture of you about to throw a temper tantrum to Twitter, and we’re done here,” said William Regal. “Thank you for your time.”

* * *

His cherry-red Maserati was gone from its usual parking space. In its place was--Tyler swallowed hard--a gray minivan. “No,” he moaned.

“The General Manager said we’d be using this.” Sami Zayn was lounging against the hood, his omnipresent tweed cap covering his red curls. 

“No,” Tyler said again, staring at the hideous vehicle.

“Look, I’m not any happier about this than you are,” Sami snapped.

“That. Is not. Possible,” Tyler said.

“But I lost to Viktor, and that means I’m stuck with you. Stuck in runner-up purgatory again,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away.

“A minivan! I love minivans!” A whoop of joy heralded the arrival of Bayley, with Charlotte and Hideo Itami trailing slightly behind. “This is so cool,” she gushed. “We can all sing Bohemian Rhapsody together and tell stories--hi Sami!” She ran up to Sami and threw her arms around him.

“Okay, maybe there are some okay things about purgatory,” he said as he rested his chin on the top of her ponytail briefly, grinning.

“Tyler, thanks so much for letting us stay with you!” Bayley said, and for a horrific moment it looked as if she might--

 _”No hugging,”_ he said quickly, and she shrugged slightly and let her arms drop to her sides.

 _”BADA-BOOM!_ Realest guys in the room!” The bellow signalled the arrival of the last of his--Tyler shuddered at the thought--”guests”: Enzo Amore and Colin Cassady. 

"Realest guys in the parking lot, I guess," Cass amended.

“How you doing?” Enzo hailed them all at top volume.

Hideo thought that over for a moment. “I am fine, thank you. And you?”

“Naw, man,” Enzo said in disgust. “How you _doing_?” Hideo looked confused, and Enzo clapped him on the back. “Never mind, man, it’s cool, it’s cool.”

“I can’t believe this,” Tyler groaned as they started to throw their bags in the back. “Trapped in a _minivan_ with the biggest uggos of NXT.”

“Hey.” Enzo was at his elbow, grinning up at him toothily. “Cass and me, we know how you feel, man. We know. But they ain’t that bad, when you get to know ‘em.”

Tyler Breeze stared at Enzo--gold chains draped across his hairy chest before disappearing into a purple leopard-print jacket, mohawk bobbing cheerfully above his pugnaciously friendly face--and found himself for the first time in his career at a total loss for words.

A hand landed on Enzo's shoulder, and Cass steered him away from Tyler before a response became necessary.

"Don't you want to change out of your ring gear before we head out, Tyler?" Bayley asked.

"Ring gear?"

"Well, you don't...wear that all the time...?" Bayley's voice trailed off as she took in the glory of Tyler's blue wildebeest-fur vest and matching boots, his glimmering magenta tights, and his expanse of shining chest.

"What else would I wear? Being beautiful is a full-time job." Tyler ignored Enzo's "You got that right" and pulled a white luchador mask out of his bag. "Now, I think you'll all understand that I can't be seen in public with you, so--"

"--You're going to wear a mask?" Charlotte's eyebrows were raised. Behind her, Bayley was stifling giggles.

"Certainly not." Tyler pulled out five matching masks. "I think these should fit all of you and cover up some of the worst of the ugly. Now--"

Sami Zayn reached out and plucked the masks from Tyler's hand. Opening the passenger-side door, he stuffed them into the glove compartment. "Let's get going," he said, ignoring Tyler's sputtered outrage. He gestured to the front passenger side seat. "You want shotgun, Cass?"

"Thanks, man, but naw," said Cass. "I'm used to sitting next to Enzo." _And trying to keep him out of trouble,_ his expression said. 

"So...who's gonna ride next to Breeze?" Sami said as Charlotte, Hideo, and Bayley piled into the back seat and Cass folded himself into the middle along with Enzo. He wrinkled his nose as he watched Tyler take his place in the driver's seat. "Looks like me," he muttered, getting in.

As Tyler checked his face in the rear-view mirror to make sure he was still looking good (he was), Sami called back to the rest, “Where should we get some food?”

“IHOP!” came an excited, Japanese-accented voice from the back.

“Aw, man, if I’dda known we was going to a classy joint I’dda dressed up,” Cass said.

“We are _not_ going to the International House Of Pug-uglies,” Tyler snapped. “I mean, look at the lot of you. Zayn is from Canada, Itami’s from Japan, Amore’s from--whatever country he’s from." He ignored the "Hey!" from behind him. "This car already more than qualifies.” He stepped on the gas and the minivan lurched forward, eliciting a squeak of alarm from Bayley. “I’m going back to my beach house.”

He drove in grim silence for a while, but eventually conversations broke out among the passengers of the car: discussing the night’s matches, the upcoming fights, the ongoing feuds. None of it was about him, so Tyler just ignored it. Sami leaned back and fell asleep, his head lolling to one side and the cloth cap sliding over his face, and only woke up when they pulled into the driveway of Tyler’s place.

“Holy Jeez!” Big Cass’s voice was full of delight. “Lookit this place!”

“It’s not as nice as my place in Helsinki, or the one in Santorini,” Tyler said, “But it works when I’m stuck here in Florida.”

"It's huge!" Bayley jumped up and down and clapped before running up the walkway to the front door. "Wow, Tyler! This is amazing!"

He stopped at the front door to brush his hair back behind his ear and take a quick selfie ( _Home at last after a long day's work as Mayor of Cuteville #princepretty #mmmgorgeous_ ) before opening the door.

"Over to the right is the kitchen," he said as he strolled through into the living room with its view of the beach just a dozen yards away. "My bedroom's over there, there are three spare bedrooms on the other side of the house. The swimming pool and gym are outside and to the right, and--"

He looked back, but his guests were all standing in the middle of the living room, looking rather staggered. He shrugged. "Like I said, the place in Helsinki's a lot nicer, but _you'll_ never see the inside of that one."

"Oh, it's plenty nice," said Enzo, for once sounding almost subdued. "It's just...it's very..."

"Clean," finished Bayley. 

"Minimalistic?" Charlotte suggested.

"Empty?" Sami added.

"Mirrors?" said Hideo.

Tyler looked around his living room with pride: the all-white furniture, the gleaming white marble floors. Nothing superfluous, nothing out of place. And of course the walls, the crowning glory of this house and every house he owned. 

Big Cass had his camcorder out. "It's like a Coney Island funhouse!" he enthused, swinging it around to take in the walls and their host of gleaming mirrors: full-length mirrors, medium mirrors, tiny mirrors; simple frames and ornate; all crowded together thickly so that wherever you looked your face was framed over and over, a perfect work of art (if you were Tyler Breeze). 

Cass swung the camera to focus on Enzo, surrounded by a thousand mirrored images of himself. "Hey look, it's Enzoception!" 

Tyler frowned at the sight of his uggo guests fouling the pristine interior of his mirrors. Everywhere he looked now there was Enzo's mohawk, Cass's SAWFT t-shirt, Bayley's ponytail, Hideo's grin, Sami's...blandness. He stepped between Hideo and a mirror to flash his reflection a reassuring look: _only eight weeks, gorgeous._

His reflection looked only slightly reassured.

“Good grief,” came Charlotte’s voice from the guest quarters. “Every room is like this?”

“Well, of course.” Tyler shrugged.

“This is high- _lar_ -i-ous,” Cass said as they trooped to explore the bedrooms and drop their luggage off: Bayley and Charlotte in one room, Cass and Enzo in another, and Sami and Hideo in the third. 

Tyler paused in the hallway to check his hair again in one of his favorite mirrors, the one where the lighting was just right and the angle perfection. _Still gorgeous._

“I’m _starvin’!_ ” Enzo jostled by him to bound into the kitchen, ruining the effect. “Have you got some leftovers or something we can heat up?” Tyler heard the refrigerator open. “Hey, Tyler!” he bellowed. “There ain’t nothing in your fridge, man!”

“Nothing?” Tyler frowned as he entered the kitchen. “Is all my artisanal water gone?”

“Naw, man, the water’s there, there’s tons of it, but…”

“What else would I have in my fridge?”

Enzo blinked at him. “Food?”

“My personal chef drops off my meals. In fact…” Tyler glanced at the clock (or at least one of the mirrors that had a clock on it). As he did, the doorbell rang once. “That’s him now.”

He opened the door and picked up the package on the doorstep. “Salmon with capers and zucchini quinoa, perfect.” He unwrapped the fork from the top and sat down at the bar to eat.

“But what are the rest of us gonna eat?” Enzo demanded.

Tyler took another bite. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.

Enzo threw his hands out. “Are you tellin’ me that you got guests and you ain’t got no _food_?” His face was getting red and it was clear he was working himself into a promo-level frenzy. “That’s a crime, man!”

“How you doing?” said Cass absent-mindedly as he walked into the kitchen.

“This fridge is empty as Capone’s vault and you ain’t no Geraldo Rivera!”

“Geraldo,” Cass echoed.

“I ain’t Ryback, but I am hungry! I’m about to go Sugar Ray all over you, Durán!”

“ _No más, no más_ ,” noted Cass.

“Gimme that kee-noh-ay,” Enzo said, making a grab for Tyler’s meal.

“No, no!” Tyler yelled, but it was no use: within moments the salmon and quinoa were all over the white marble floor. 

“That is _it!_ ” Tyler glared at Cass and Enzo, who looked sullenly chagrined. “I am going to my _room!_ ”

And he stomped off to his own room, where he kept all the very _best_ mirrors. Sitting down on the bed, he pulled out his phone and checked his Instagram. Only twenty likes on his front-door selfie! He jumped up to look at his face in one of the mirrors: was the stress already giving him dark circles under his eyes? He couldn’t afford this kind of hassle!

There was a knock on the door, and Tyler turned to see Charlotte standing there with her arms full of fur and spandex: his clothes! “Breeze,” she said, “ _all_ of the closets in this place are already full. There’s no place for us to put our clothes.”

“Well, how much space can you possibly need for your mundane little wardrobes?” Tyler said, baffled. “It’s not like you’ve got to be as pretty as me all the time. It’s not like you _could_.”

Charlotte shot him a look and strolled into the room (the mirrors filled with her images as she entered, and Tyler felt anxiety wash through him as his own face was crowded out), where she deposited the armful of clothes on the bed. “There. Now we have room,” she said, and left.

Tyler slammed the door behind her so hard that his mirrors all shivered. “It’s okay,” he whispered to the thousand gorgeous images of himself as he carefully folded his clothes and arranged and then re-arranged them by color. He could hear noisy conversation from the kitchen and living room, but he ignored it. “I have to let them stay here, but I don’t have to talk with them. I don’t have to be anywhere near them. I can just stay here.” He chose a new case for his phone (it took twenty minutes) and changed it, then held up the phone, pursing his lips fetchingly and gazing deep into his own eyes before clicking the shutter. _Prince Pretty keeps his cool._

His stomach growled, which was not a pretty sound at all. He grimaced as it came back to him that he had only had a couple of bites of his dinner. “See how William Regal likes it when his most beautiful star wastes away to nothing,” he muttered. “Then he’ll be sorry.” He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the fact that there was a distinct scent of garlic and tomato starting to creep under his door and tickle at his nose. He felt his mouth watering and swallowed hard. _Don’t give them the satisfaction, don’t let them-- ___

He heard a crashing noise and shrieks of laughter, and without thinking he leaped up and charged into the kitchen.

The first thing his horrified gaze fell upon was Enzo Amore, wearing a leopard-print “Kiss the Cook” apron, standing in the middle of the formerly-pristine kitchen, now spattered liberally with red sprays (both the kitchen and Enzo, that is). Behind him stood Big Cass, wielding two pot covers as cymbals--the source of the thunderous crash.

Enzo threw his hands out, addressing the occupants of the living room. “My name,” he barked, “Is Enzo Amore, and I am a certified G--"

"That stands for gourmet," Cass said _sotto voce_.

"--and a bonafide chef. And you can’t! Teach! That!”

Cass tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, ‘Zo, I’m pretty sure you can teach that.”

Enzo squinted up at him. “What?”

“I mean, they got cookin’ schools and everything, you know?”

“Really? Whatever!” Enzo spun back around to the living room, indicating his partner with one dramatic gesture. “And this here is Big Cass, and he makes a mean garlic bread, and you can’t--well, it’s a secret family recipe, so he can’t! Teach! That!”

He reached over and grabbed a serving plate heaped high with pasta; Cass lifted up a platter of bread, and they presented them with a flourish.

“BADDA-BOOM!” yelled Enzo as the others broke into applause. “Reallest cooks in the room!” Then he spotted Tyler. “Heya, it’s Breezarooni!”

Tyler wrinkled his nose. “No. No it’s not.”

"Enzo made us spaghetti!" Bayley explained.

"You take that back!" Enzo yelped. "Spaghetti? This here is tagliatelle bolognese, just like Gramma Amore makes." He looked over at Tyler. "Cass and me, we went out and bought some stuff so we could cook you all a classic Amore meal. Come on over, there’s plenty for everybody!” He gave Tyler a mad grin as he capered over to the table: he seemed to have entirely forgotten that Tyler was angry at him. Or that he had been angry at Tyler. 

“We hadda buy some paper plates and stuff,” Cass explained. “Cuz you didn’t have nothing like that.”

Tyler approached the table warily, eyeing the plates with their chaos of red-drenched, cheese-festooned pasta. Trying to ignore the utter demolition of his kitchen, he sat down. For a moment, everyone eyed the food with some trepidation. Then Hideo grabbed a plastic fork and shoveled several long, gooey strands into his mouth with an audible _slurp_. As everyone watched him, he broke into a brilliant grin.

 _"Shinjirarenee!_ " he beamed. _"Sugoku umai yo!"_

"Wow, he isn't kidding," said Sami, who had taken a bite of his own. He picked up the pepper shaker and held it out to Hideo. _"Koshou?_ "

_"Iie, sono mama de ii."_

"What's he sayin' about my mama?" Enzo said suspiciously.

Sami snorted laughter with his mouth full, then swallowed hastily when it looked like Enzo might lose his cool. "No, no. He said it was incredibly delicious, just right. Nothing about your mother, Enzo. Promise."

"Oh. Well in that case..." Grinning, Enzo ladled more pasta onto Hideo's plate.

"Wow, you speak Japanese too, Sami?" Bayley grabbed a piece of steaming garlic bread, juggling it from hand to hand. "That's not listed on your bio."

Sami shrugged. "Just a little. I'm not fluent enough to justify putting it there."

Tyler took a cautious bite of the pasta. It looked like a hideous mess, but it wasn't bad: rich and savory. Lots of oregano. It was...pretty good, actually.

"Aren't you going to eat any, Charlotte?" Cass pushed the bowl of garlic bread closer to her with a concerned look on his face.

Bayley chuckled sympathetically. "It's that little voice in your head saying you shouldn't, you're training, it's fattening, isn't it? I know that little voice."

Charlotte's smile at Bayley was wry. "Actually, it's more the loud voices _outside_ my head I'm thinking of: my nutritionist, my personal trailer. I mean, they've been working with me since I was ten..." She trailed off, gazing at the garlic bread with her heart in her eyes.

Bayley clapped her on the shoulder. "Well, they're not here right now, are they? It's just us, just your friends."

Charlotte blinked and looked at Bayley. Then she smiled. "One piece won't hurt," she said.

"We'll hit Tyler's gym after," Bayley said. "Oh, if that's okay with you, Tyler, I'm sorry."

Tyler's plate was empty, which was somewhat surprising. Enzo shoveled more food onto it without being asked. "Sure," Tyler said. "Just don't touch anything, okay?"

A puzzled pause. "Tyler, it's hard to use a gym without touching anything," Charlotte said.

Tyler thought it over. "Can you at least not get sweat on my equipment? You know what, never mind," he added at the look on Charlotte's face. "I'll just have it all disinfected later, it's fine, whatever."

"So, Breezarooni, how about that Daytona Beach nightlife, huh?" Enzo flexed, then kissed his biceps. "You gonna show us where all the best parties and all the foxiest ladies are? Hurricane Enzo is ready to make landfall, if you know what I mean!"

Tyler shuddered all over, then pulled out his phone to make sure his hair hadn't come undone from its ponytail. "See, usually I would go out and brighten the evenings of the local populace. But if you went with me, I would have to be _seen_ with you. Someone might even take a picture of me with one of you. No, it's just too great a risk," he said gravely, blowing himself a quick kiss.

"Well, don't let us keep you," called Sami from the sink. At some point he and Hideo had unobtrusively started cleaning off the table and tidying the kitchen. "We'll just stay here and try not to cry _too_ much at your absence."

Tyler sighed around a mouthful of pasta. "Fortunately for you losers, but unfortunately for me, Regal has said if he catches me ditching you I'm fired. And of course if I go out I can't really expect people not to take pictures of my gorgeousness and post them..." He shrugged. 

"So we're stuck with you," Sami said, handing Hideo a washed bowl.

Tyler frowned. "I wouldn't put it that way."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."

Tyler checked his phone again. The front door selfie was doing better, that was good. He was overdue for another, actually. Lifting his phone, he framed himself in the screen and--

"You takin' a picture?" Enzo appeared next to him, and Tyler recoiled. "Hey there, Breezers!" he yelled at the camera. "My name is Enzo Amore, the house guest with the most-est, here from Hackensack at the head of the pack, live from Future Legends House, with more sass than an ep of Total Divas. How you doing?"

Tyler yanked his phone back and addressed the room at large. "Can anyone translate him into English? Zayn, do you speak whatever language they speak in the country he comes from? Hackensackian or something?" He spoke slowly and clearly to Enzo: "Stay. Out of. My selfies."

But Enzo was already off teasing Bayley, tugging at her ponytail and making her giggle, suggesting they work out together: "Wait'll you see me on the treadmill!" 

"And they're not Breezers!" Tyler yelled after him as he gathered up Cass, Bayley and Charlotte, still talking a mile a minute, and headed toward the gym. "They're Wannabreeze!" He met Sami's incredulous gaze and said (not defensively, not at all defensively), "My fans. They're Wannabreeze."

"Wannabreeze." Sami raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"I don't get it," said Hideo. 

Sami flicked the dish towel at him. "I'll explain it while we work out."

Hideo mimed lifting a weight. "Time to lift."

"No, no, no, no," Tyler said. "Are you crazy? No free weights in the Breeze gym. They make you all muscle-bound and gross. I've got everything you need for a sleek, svelte, panther-like body." He looked at Hideo and Sami. "Well, you would probably need more, but I don't have a surgeon on my staff, so..."

Sami threw the towel at him. "Let's go, Hideo."

Tyler couldn't bear the thought of having to look at so much panting, sweaty ugliness in one place, so he entertained himself by taking a few dozen more selfies and picking out the best three for Instagram. He drifted off to sleep early, counting "likes" in his mind.

* * *

When he woke up, for a brief glorious moment he didn't remember what had happened the day before. Then he heard chattering and clattering from the kitchen, and sat up straight in bed in a moment's panic. His reflections stared back at him from across the room: hair rumpled, eyes still heavy with sleep. Still gorgeous, of course. His options were limited for clothing--only one walk-in-closet's worth! Barbaric! He picked out a chartreuse pair of tights with a pure white chinchilla vest and matching boots, then quickly pulled his hair back and tied it tightly--no loose strands allowed. The final step was of course a picture: _Another beautiful morning with the Definition of Delish! #riseandshine_

Taking a deep breath, he opened his bedroom door.

In the kitchen, Hideo was heaping pancakes onto plates at an astonishing rate for an appreciative Cass, Sami and Bayley.

Tyler glanced at the clock: 8:00. "You're up already?" he muttered as Hideo flipped a set of pancakes onto a plate and handed it to him.

"Hideo's already gone for a run and come back," said Sami.

"Can't waste morning," Hideo said.

“On the plus side, at least Mojo Rawley isn’t staying with us,” said Sami. “I roomed with him once and--”

“No!” gasped Bayley with a giggle as she slathered butter on her pancakes.

“Yes! He _wakes up like that,_ it’s actually...kind of terrifying,” Sami said.

"What's going on? Is there food?" Enzo emerged wearing nothing but tiger-print pajama bottoms, rubbing his eyes with one hand and scratching his crotch with the other.

"Ew," said Tyler, sitting down and cutting off a piece of the pancakes. Then he jumped to his feet as a woman came into the dining room. "Who are you? Who let you into my house?"

"Tyler, it's Charlotte," said Bayley. 

Tyler stared.

"I'm not going to put all that makeup on when it's just you guys," the woman--who did _sound_ like Charlotte--said as she sat down. "You'll just have to deal."

"Eh," said Enzo, "No one should have to do that much work to just hang around at home."

Tyler felt the need to clarify: "This is _not_ your home." But Enzo didn't seem to be listening as he continued:

"Anyway, you're gorgeous no matter what. And I'm not just sayin' that because you could maybe kick my ass!"

Charlotte considered that for a moment, then smiled. "There's no 'maybe' about it, Enzo."

"Aw, burn," said Cass appreciatively.

Enzo pointed at him. "You ain't gonna post that video of me working out last night, right?"

"You mean the one where you fell off the elliptical trying to keep up with Charlotte? Naw, man, I'm not gonna post it."

"You already posted it, didn't you," Enzo said with an air of resignation.

Cass shrugged.

"Tyler!" Bayley chirped. "Can we go out on the beach? It looks beautiful!"

"Um, I guess." Tyler shrugged. "I've never been there."

"The beach is literally two meters from your patio," said Sami, "and you've never been on it?"

"Hello?" Tyler raised a devastating eyebrow. "I could tan _unevenly_! I could even _burn_!"

"Oh, for God's sake," said Sami.

Bayley scooped Tyler's empty plate up. "Let me wash up and then we can hit the beach!"

Enzo whooped. "Beach party, baby!"

An hour later, Tyler looked out onto the beach where an impromptu beach volleyball game was raging between the six bathing-suit-clad wrestlers. Cass served the ball, and Sami dove for it, managing a backflip in the process. It looked cool, but he didn't quite make it to the ball in time and ended up on his stomach, covered in sand. He rolled over and thumped the ground with a fist: "Serve it again," he said. "I'll get it this time." 

Cass served again, and again Sami pulled off the backflip but missed the ball. "Do it again," he snapped.

Charlotte said, "Maybe if you tried it without the backflip--"

" _\--no_. I'll get it perfect or I won't get it at all."

Three failed tries later, Bayley said rather plaintively, "This isn't really fun anymore, Sami."

Cass served again, and Sami leaped for it with a growl. This time he caught the edge of the ball and sent it bouncing off into the waves. 

As Enzo ran to retrieve it, Sami lay full-length on the sand, face down. He rolled over, his chest heaving, and glared at the sky. Then the frustration on his face slowly gave way to that strangely sweet, lopsided smile: _I'm an idiot,_ it seemed to say. 

Tyler agreed wholeheartedly with that assessment, but in order to say so, he would have to actually get closer. Uneasily, he stepped off the patio and onto the sand. It shifted unnervingly under his boots, and the fur trailed in the sand slightly, but he made his way over to the rest of the group, who had broken up the game and were now sitting around.

Bayley waved and grinned. "You've joined us! Awesome!"

Tyler looked down at Sami, who was still lying on the sand. "You'll never make it to the WWE like that," he noted.

Sami looked up at him. "Like what?" he said sharply.

"With all that hideous _chest hair,_ of course. Ew." His nose wrinkled as he looked at the hairy expanse. "None of the big stars can get away with that. You have to prove you're willing to do what it takes to fit in."

"What, wax my chest?" Sami looked amused.

"Prices have to be paid to achieve beauty," Tyler said. "Or in your case, I suppose, barely-tolerability." He caressed his shining pectorals briefly. "They'll never promote someone who looks like a wooly mammoth."

Sami was looking up at him. The amused smile was gone, but his expression wasn't easy to read. "You think the reason I won't succeed is my chest hair?"

"That and whatever's on your face. That would have to go too."

"My beard?"

Tyler shook his head. "I've seen beards, Zayn. I'm pretty sure that's not actually a beard."

Sami shook his head impatiently. "What I mean is, you think it's my looks? You're basically saying I've got the skills?"

"I didn't say that," Tyler said quickly. 

"You implied it."

"Don't go putting words in my mouth," Tyler snapped. "I said nothing of the sort."

Sami looked up at him for a moment, then suddenly smiled. "I think I'll take it that way, though."

"You take that back," Tyler hissed. _"Stop being complimented."_

Sami started to laugh, and Tyler contemplated whether or not he could grind that ugly face into the sand without ruining his manicure. He was on the verge of finding out when he heard a bizarre _sproinging_ sound from back at the patio. 

He looked over to see--horrors!--Bayley on a pogo stick, bouncing up and down.

"This! Is great! Tyler!" she announced between sproings. "I like--hey!"

She broke off as Tyler shoved her off the pogo stick, sending it clattering. "This patio is made of pure Makrana marble, imported from India!" he seethed. "Do you have any idea how valuable it is?"

"Um...no?" Bayley was tugging on her ponytail, her eyes repentant, but Tyler didn't care.

"I don't either! But I have accountants who will tell me, if gets damaged by some brain-dead loser!"

"Hey!" Charlotte came storming up from the beach. "Don't you talk that way to Bayley, you preening windbag!"

"Yeah, lighten up, man!" said Enzo. "You're not so pretty when you're mad, you know?"

And he _reached out and tweaked Tyler's ponytail._

Tyler whirled and slapped his hand away. " _Do not touch my hair._ Do you hear me, you mouth-breathing troglodyte? _Never_ touch my hair!" He wanted to say more, but his breath was coming short and he was suddenly certain his face was red and blotchy: they were going to ruin him! It was intolerable!

He turned and left them on the patio, retreating once again to his safe room where the only thing in the mirrors was himself. 

As the door slammed behind him he heard Bayley say contritely, "I'm really sorry."

* * *

“So, Breeze.” Regal drummed his fingers on the desk as he looked Tyler up and down. “How are you doing?”

Tyler winced at Regal’s words. “ _Please_ don’t say that. I’m so sick of the question I can’t take it in any form. There isn’t even an answer to it, it’s just an endless echo! _How you doing? How you doing? How you doing?_ It’s like living with a parrot. A hideous, molting parrot.”

“I get the impression that your house guests may be wearing on you a fraction.”

"Mr. Regal, I'm _begging_ you." Tyler made the saddest puppy-dog eyes he could manage at the General Manager, sitting behind his desk. "I've put up with it for a week, but I can't take it any more. You've _got_ to let me out of this hellish nightmare."

Regal looked horribly amused. "Is it so bad?"

"You have _no idea_ ," Tyler moaned. "Enzo and Cass leave their underwear lying around the living room!"

"Leopard print?" Regal's eyes twinkled as Tyler shuddered an affirmative.

"Bayley set up Ezra and Cindy on my front lawn!"

"And who exactly are they?"

"Two of her ridiculous wacky balloon men. The neighbors, Mr. Regal! I can’t explain that to my neighbors!"

Regal's mouth twitched and he covered it with his hand. "Oh, the horror."

"They _sing_ during the commute! They do it just to drive me crazy! And the worst part is, I can hardly find any time or space for a good selfie with them around all the time.”

“Why not include them?” Regal said. 

Tyler decided it was best to pretend he hadn’t heard something so unhinged. “ _Please_ , Mr. Regal, sir. I’ll do _anything_. I’ll grovel on my knees. I’ll clean your toilets--well, I’ll pay someone to clean your toilets for a month.” He looked at Regal’s expression. “All right, all right! I’ll do it myself! I’ll--I’ll even let you take a picture with me and post it. Where people can see it. See you...next to me.” The mind boggled, but he forced himself to say it without shuddering.

Regal’s eye had a calculating gleam to it. “You know, Breeze, there is one thing you might be able to do that would leave me grateful enough to cut your houseguests’ stay short…”

“What? Name it and I’ll do it, I swear!”

“This match of yours tonight against Sawyer Fulton.”

“It will be short enough I’ll have time after to do anything you want, I promise,” Tyler said.

“Hm,” said Regal. “See, I think Fulton’s got a lot of promise. He just lacks confidence. I think if the crowd got behind him a little, he’d really come into his own. And I think the crowd would get behind him if he were to defeat one of our more established wrestlers.”

“You…” Tyler looked at Regal. Regal looked back. “You want me to lose a match on purpose.”

“I didn’t say that,” Regal said smoothly. “But if he happened to win tonight, I think you’d find I’d be in such a good mood that I’d be much more amenable to doing you a favor.” Regal raised an eyebrow when Tyler didn’t say anything. “You did say you were willing to do anything.”

“As it turns out,” said Tyler, “I was exaggerating. Anything but that. All the other offers are still on the table.”

Regal shook his head. “I think that’s the only thing I need from you.”

There was an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of Tyler’s stomach. “I don’t think you understand,” he said. “My fan base has certain expectations of me and I can’t violate them.”

Regal’s face had an expression on it that Tyler only realized was contempt because he had seen himself looking at other people in the same way in photos. “Tyler, your fan base expects nothing from you beyond being pretty. They don’t care about your--”

“-- _I_ am my fan base!” Tyler brought his hands down hard on Regal’s desk. “You think I really care what random louts on the Internet think of me? _I_ am the only person whose opinion matters. _Mine_ is the only judgment I give a damn about at the end of the day.” He gestured at his face. “How could I ever take another selfie if I couldn’t look myself in the eye? No, Mr. Regal.” He was surprised to find that he was shaking slightly. “No. I’ll do anything else, but not that.”

There was a long silence. “That’s the only option,” said Regal.

“Then I guess there’s no deal,” Tyler managed to say, his throat dry. 

Regal shrugged. “Since I never offered you a deal, Tyler, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nevertheless, if you happen to lose tonight I think you would find me in a more generous mood.”

Ignoring him, Tyler turned and fumbled with the handle before finally managing to wrench it open and stumble out.

He almost walked right into Sami Zayn, who was standing outside the door looking blank (as usual).

“Get out of my way, clod,” Tyler said, trying to push past him, but Sami caught him by the arm.

“What was all that about?” Sami asked.

“It was none of your business,” Tyler snapped, yanking his arm away.

“I don’t understand,” said Sami. “Don’t you want to get rid of us?”

“More than anything in the world,” Tyler snarled.

“So why not just lose the match? It won’t hurt your career in the long run, and you’ll be rid of us.” He looked puzzled, and somehow that just made Tyler even angrier.

“I _don’t_ lose matches to uggo randos.”

“Uggo randos?” The corners of Sami’s mouth threatened to curve. “Are you aware you sound like a walking Urban Dictionary?”

“Just leave me alone, Zayn,” said Tyler. “It’s bad enough that I have to live with you, don’t make it worse by talking to me.”

“Wait! Look, Breeze. What if I helped you out?”

“Helped me out?”

“I could interfere with your match with Fulton. I could run in and knock you out. Then you could lose, but it wouldn’t be your fault.”

Tyler eyed him with suspicion. “Why would you offer to help me?”

“Do you honestly think I’m enjoying staying with you? I want out of this as much as you do.” He considered. “Also, the chance to clobber you is kind of a bonus,” he added with a smile.

Tyler shook his head. “ _Two_ uggos in the ring with me at the same time? No way. You’ll bring down the beauty level of the whole match. There’s only so much my cuteness can compensate for, you know.” He glared at Sami. “I’ll think of something else. I’ll find a way out. I’m not just a pretty face, you know!”

Sami snorted once. “All right then,” he said. “Have it your way. But don’t come crying to me when you’re stuck with us again.”

“As if I would ever come crying to _you_ , Zayn.” And Tyler executed a perfect, smooth pivot on his heel and walked off.

He’d think of something else.

* * *

_I might have overestimated my cunning_ , Tyler thought in the split-second before the Beauty Shot connected with Fulton’s jaw. _Or underestimated how easy Fulton would be to beat._ But as he heard the three-count, heard the bell ring, he realized he hadn’t managed to find another way out at all. Within thirty seconds he had seen the opening for his finishing move and had taken it without thinking.

He stood up and glared down at Fulton, throwing in a vicious kick for good measure. The match had been so short his ponytail was completely intact--the only good thing about this pathetic spectacle.

He grabbed his phone from the apron and went to take his picture, but then he spotted Sami Zayn in his screen, standing up at the top of the ramp. He’d appeared there at the beginning of the match, to the speculation of the announcers, just waiting. _Give the signal and I’ll run in_ , his expression had said. Tyler didn’t want to see his expression now--smugness made even a boring face uglier--so he changed corners and draped himself over the ropes so Zayn wouldn’t appear in his selfie. He looked at himself, went to press the button--and stopped. It was no good, this stupid phone was making him look annoyed. Were those wrinkles on his forehead? 

Angrily, he threw down his phone and stomped on it, grinding it underfoot . “It didn’t capture my true beauty,” he yelled at the crowd, and stormed up the ramp.

At the top of the ramp he brushed by Sami, who was still standing there. “Go ahead, get the gloating over with before the commute, would you?” He whirled to glare at Sami, beckoning. “Bring it, smart boy. Tell me what you would have done differently there, tell me how stupid I am.”

“Actually…” Sami shrugged. “I couldn’t think of another way out either. You didn’t have many options there.”

“So you’re saying I should have lost on purpose?”

Sami frowned. “I don’t know. But I know I never would have.” 

He looked like he was about to say more, but then Enzo and Cass were rushing over to congratulate him: “This here’s the Breezerooni,” Enzo hollered at the locker room, “and he’ll knock you out faster’n you can say ‘boot noodle’! _How you doing?”_

“I love that Beauty Shot,” said Baley, looking as if she were resisting the urge to hug him. “It’s the prettiest move--I mean, of course it is,” she said at his look, laughing, “Since it’s yours, right?”

“You’re a vain showboat, but you’re a vain showboat with skills,” Charlotte said. “And I might know a few things about those,” she added with a small smile.

Tyler grabbed his bag and they all headed toward the minivan. As Bayley started singing that song she liked so much at the top of her lungs ( _Ain’t it fun / Living in the real world?_ ) and everyone else joined in, Tyler felt the usual annoyance. But under it was something he wasn’t even sure how to define, something strange and discomfiting.

It had been...different, he thought as he pulled out of the parking lot and Bayley swung into the next verse, to have people really seem happy he had won. Different and maybe...not so bad?

 _“What are you gonna do when the world don’t orbit around you?”_ everyone else in the car sang, and Tyler tried to focus on driving and push that unpleasantly pleasant feeling back down where it belonged.

* * *

Yet from that night things were different, somehow, and Tyler couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was because he had given up on getting rid of his pestilent guests until the full time was up, maybe it was just that--like a grating, loud noise that never ends--he had started to get used to them. Even when Enzo had made Thanksgiving dinner--because apparently they celebrated Thanksgiving in his country too--and exploded a turkey in the oven, Tyler had only sighed and eaten the remains along with everyone else.

At times it was nearly tolerable, and that thought made him shudder as he went to bang on Cass and Enzo's door.

"Amore!" he yelled. "Your timer's going off!"

"Right! Got it! On it!" The door flew open and Enzo charged toward the kitchen. "You're gonna love tonight's meal!" his bellow came back to Tyler.

As always when he glimpsed Cass and Enzo's room, Tyler wasted a long moment in staring, unable to tear his eyes away. From the first moment they had moved in it was like their suitcases had vomited their entire contents at random around the room--socks, belts, fiber bars, toiletries, and suspicious magazines lay in chaotic profusion everywhere. Wincing, Tyler looked in the nearest mirror to cleanse his palate, tucking a stray wisp of hair back into place.

"You'll love it! It's gnocchi!" Enzo's voice rattled the mirrors, and the door to Bayley and Charlotte's room popped open. 

"Sounds great!" Bayley pulled off her headphones and tossed them onto the bed. Her room was not as disastrous as Cass and Enzo's, but the fact that she had taped pictures of her favorite old wrestlers over almost all of the mirrors was a bonus annoyance. Shawn Michaels, Randy Savage, the Ultimate Warrior--flexing, grinning, _non-Tyler_ faces all over the walls. He had complained to Charlotte, but she had just smiled indulgently--although she drew the line at any posters of the Nature Boy. "I don't need my father watching my every move, thank you," she had said dryly.

Bayley rapped on the last guest door: "Hideo? Ready for supper?"

Hideo swung the door open, still tapping on his cell phone. He was almost as attached to his phone as Tyler was, except he used it mostly to send text messages to Finn Bálor. Tyler had sneaked a look over his shoulder once: most of the messages seemed to revolve around gleeful plans for bloody-minded revenge against their enemies.

Tyler could agree with the sentiment, but there was no reason not to be pretty while doing it.

"Sami's in gym," Hideo said to Bayley.

"So's Charlotte, and Cass," said Bayley. "I'll go get them."

As she bounced off and Hideo headed for the kitchen, following the scent of basil, Tyler glanced into Hideo and Sami’s room. It was the only neat one of the bunch: the bed was made, and all of Hideo’s things were laid out neatly on the dresser.

Sami had yet to unpack anything, so all of his clothes and equipment were still tucked away in their suitcase. He had shrugged when Bayley asked him about it: “I’ve traveled a lot. It doesn’t pay to get too settled in anywhere.” As a result, the room was almost as tidy as Tyler’s own. 

Yet somehow, while Tyler’s room looked perfect (of course!), this room had a rather bleak and bare look about it.

The patio door slamming made him wince and hurry to the living room to glare at Cass, who gave him a sheepish shrug. There were already plates on the table--at some point in the last week someone had bought garish plastic plates so they didn’t have to eat off paper--and Sami and Hideo were chatting in Japanese.

“Everyone, everyone, _everyone!_ ” Bayley stood at the head of the table as Enzo started ladeling out the pasta. “I just found out today,” she announced, “That Charlotte has _never been to a Disney theme park._ ”

“It’s not a big deal, Bayley,” said Charlotte, looking uncomfortable.

“Are you kidding? of _course_ it’s a big deal! I’ve been to Disneyland back home maybe twenty times, how can you not have gone to a Disney park in your life! You’ve all gone, right? Right?” Everyone--even Tyler, reluctantly--nodded, and Bayley threw her hands up. “See, Charlotte? We _have_ to go. I’ve never been to Disneyworld--it’s _right there_ , and I’ve never had time, promise me we’ll go this weekend, _please?_ ”

She gave Charlotte such an imploring look that Charlotte sighed and nodded, and Bayley clapped her hands and jumped in the air. “We’ll all go! It’ll be so fun!”

“No way,” said Tyler. “No way am I going to look at such a vast expanse of uggos.” He stuck his finger in his mouth and made a gagging noise.

“Tyler…” Bayley was smiling at him. “We can’t go without you, you know.”

“Couldn’t we _try_?” said Sami.

“Tyyyyyyler,” said Bayley. “If you go with us, I promise I’ll pack up Ezra and Cindy.”

Tyler considered. “You won’t just replace them with others?”

Bayley solemnly crossed her heart, ponytail bobbing.

“Then...all right. Unless I start losing my lunch, in which case all bets are off.”

“Yay! Oh, this will be so much fun!”

“ _No hugging!_ ” Tyler felt it necessary to remind her as she came forward with her arms wide.

“Hey hey!” from the kitchen, Enzo gestured at himself and Cass, who was scooping gnocchi onto plates. “If you wanna hug, Bayley, I’m just gonna note that we here are open for hugging business!” His smile of anticipation faded somewhat when Bayley ran into the kitchen and threw her arms around Cass. “Aw, nuts,” he muttered, picking up a couple of plates with a resigned air.

The gnocchi was so good that Tyler briefly considered telling Enzo so, then rejected that lunatic idea. In fact, lately he’d been eating so well that he’d had to give in and start using the gym even though the others were in there. Once he’d gotten over the initial nausea--and gotten used to Enzo exhorting everyone not to be SAWFT at random intervals--it had been not as bad as he had feared.

He still had a hard time taking selfies, though. It seemed like there was always some hideous mundanity looming in his screen. He sighed to himself and took another piece of bread. Six more weeks and they’d be gone.

Just six more weeks.

* * *

“Welcome to the Happiest Place on Earth!” Bayley announced, spinning around at the entrance of Main Street USA, throwing her hands out.

“It’s so _fake_ ,” Tyler complained, wiping his hands on his fuchsia lynx-fur vest. He’d even had to wear a t-shirt under it, as Disney apparently didn’t want the glory of his chest blinding the unwary. Or something.

“Oh, you’re one to speak,” Sami said.

Tyler gestured angrily at his immaculate hair, his chiseled face, his toned body. “ _None_ of this is fake, Zayn! This is 100% pure perfection!”

Sami rolled his eyes, then stopped with his eyebrows raised as a knot of pre-teens pointed at their group. 

“Is that really them?” Tyler heard someone whisper excitedly. “I know them! They’re wrestlers! They’re famous!”

Tyler sighed as the grubby fans debated whether or not they could ask for their autographs. “You see, this is why it’s dangerous to go to places where the unwashed masses congregate,” he said. “But _noblesse oblige_ , I suppose.” 

He turned with a charming smile and prepared for the onslaught of sweaty, demanding fans.

* * *

“Cheer up,” Sami said. “This happens to me all the time.”

He and Tyler were sitting together on the curb, watching Charlotte and Bayley sign autographs and answer questions from a small mob of excited children and teens. 

Tyler snorted. “As if I’m disappointed to not be besieged by a horde of germ-carrying goblins,” he said. “They’re welcome to them.”

He watched as Bayley hugged yet another fan and Charlotte posed for a picture with one. Hideo, Cass, and Enzo were entertaining a smaller group off to the right. 

“They’re welcome to them,” he repeated vehemently.

“It’s a small world!” yelled Bayley, running up to them.

“No it’s not,” said Tyler. “It’s a huge, cruel, ugly world, and--oh, you mean the--no. No, I am not going on-- _No_!”

Fifteen minutes later, he was clutching his head as the horrific strains of _“It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears”_ permeated his brain. “Bayley, _please_ don’t sing along,” he groaned.

“Oh come on, that’s part of the fun!”

_”No it’s not!”_

Behind him, he could hear Sami chuckling quietly, and he resisted the urge to throw him into the probably-typhoid-laden water. The chuckling became louder and louder, and when they reached the point with the cuckoo-clocks and the yodeler, Sami appeared to give up all restraint and just lay down and laughed.

“I’m imagining Cesaro coming on this ride and freaking out,” he confessed to the others, wiping his eyes, “And going on a rampage, jumping out of the boat and ripping up animatronics, Cesaro Swinging them into the moat, cursing in five languages…”

After that everyone else joined in, imagining different international wrestlers destroying the relevant portions of the ride: Kofi Kingston and Justin Gabriel tag-teaming the Africa dolls; Wade Barrett striding across the quaint British section like a giant, punting and yelling _I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news!_ Enzo and Cass added bellowed _How you doing?_ s at the eternally smiling dolls when necessary, reducing Sami to helpless spluttering noises. 

“Jason Albert in Japan! Like Godzilla!” Hideo yelled at the Japanese section. He raised his hands and roared as he mimed crushing things underfoot.

“Tyler!” said Bayley between giggles, “I’ve never seen you laugh before!”

“I’m not laughing!” said Tyler. His sides ached for some reason and he was having a hard time catching his breath. He’d eaten so much of Amore’s infernal pasta that apparently he got winded riding a kiddie ride now! “No laughing, no crying--you can’t be pretty when you do either,” he wheezed. “So I don’t.”

“But it makes you look more like a real human being,” Charlotte observed, leaning over the back of the ride and grinning at him.

Tyler took a couple of deep breaths, trying to control his face. Could he feel crow’s-feet forming at the corners of his eyes? “Being a real human being is for losers,” he said, which inexplicably made everyone laugh harder.

* * *

“Tyler, _how_ do you do that?”

The screams of riders on Splash Mountain were a constant din in the near distance. Bayley was looking up at the screen showing the photograph that captured the moment their party’s little boat had paused at the height of the ride before crashing down. In the front seats, Cass and Enzo were clinging to each other, their faces terrified. Behind them, Bayley and Charlotte were laughing, while Hideo and Sami just looked surprised.

And all alone in the final row, Tyler was looking right at the camera, posing with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s a camera,” Tyler said, shrugging. “I always know.”

“It’s like a gosh darn superpower,” Cass said with a hint of awe in his voice.

“I’m gonna buy it,” said Bayley. “No, I insist,” she said over Tyler’s protests about not wanting visual evidence of his Time with the Uggos. “I want a souvenir of this day.” She handed over the money and hugged the photo in its little paper folder to her chest briefly before tucking it into her bag. “I’m having the most fun ever, guys,” she said as they went back out into the street. “I really am.”

When they got home ten hours later--exhausted, footsore, and stuffed full of bad park food--she announced she was going to tape the picture to her dresser mirror and disappeared. Everyone else said their goodnights and headed off, and Tyler was on his way when he spotted movement on his patio. 

As usual, Sami Zayn was out there: he spent some time along on the patio nearly every night, just wandering back and forth alone. Typical weirdo.

Sami looked up in surprise as the patio door opened, but he couldn’t have been much more surprised than Tyler, who hadn’t really intended to--well, it would look stupid to just close it again, so he walked out onto the patio ( _his_ patio, he had a right to walk out there if he wanted to). 

“Evening,” Sami said.

“Mm,” Tyler noted. “Why do you come out here every night, anyway? I mean, I appreciate you giving us all a break from your overwhelming underwhelmingness, but I doubt your motives were so altruistic.”

Sami snorted. “They all seemed to have fun today,” he said. He glanced over at Tyler. “You didn’t even seem to hate it _all_ the time.”

“Only ninety...eight percent or so,” Tyler said. “I don’t see how anyone could enjoy being surrounded by the most repulsive examples of humanity in the world--I mean, other than those on the NXT roster.”

Sami snorted again--a distinctly unpretty sound. “Can’t you give it a rest for just a few minutes, Breeze? I mean, what have you got against us ‘uggos’--” He made air quotes around the word, “--anyway? Did some uggo kill your parents?”

Tyler looked away from Sami, out at the waves breaking on the beach, and didn’t say anything. 

For a moment there was only silence, and the long slow roar of the waves. When Sami spoke again, his voice was full of concern: “Tyler? Jesus, Tyler, I’m sorry, I didn’t--I mean, I didn’t know that--”

Tyler glanced back at Sami, caught a glimpse of his worried eyes, and couldn’t keep a straight face any more: he burst out laughing (crow’s feet be damned). “I can’t believe you fell for that,” he snickered, slapping his knee. “Oh, your face! ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--’ Oh, you are _gullible._ No, no, my parents are just fine, don’t worry,” he added at Sami’s annoyed look. “Living large off their twenty-six-year investment.”

“Investment?” Sami sounded both exasperated and curious.

“Yours truly.” He gestured at himself, a sweeping motion to take him in from head to toe. “You don’t think I was some kind of _late bloomer,_ do you?”

Sami frowned. “Just how early did you start modeling?”

“Ultrasound companies--they used _my_ ultrasound in their commercials. Even before I was born I was the Definition of Delish.” That was a good caption for a selfie, but Tyler resisted the urge: too much risk Sami might get into the corner of it. “I modeled for diapers, formula, toys--I was my family’s meal ticket out of the trailer park, and I paid off. I’ve been gorgeous my whole life, and it hasn’t always been easy, either.” He crossed his arms, glaring out at the ocean. “When you look like I do, everyone assumes you got everything by being pretty, not by being skilled. But being stunningly beautiful doesn’t last forever, you know. Someday these hands aren’t going to be getting modelling work. And…” He hesitated for a moment, then went on, “...you probably haven’t noticed, but I’m not exactly a genius. There aren’t a lot of jobs out there I can do. But I’m good at wrestling. I’m _good_ ,” he repeated, almost angrily. “Even if I were as ugly as you are, I’d still be a good wrestler. It’s something I learned to do all on my own, not to advance my modeling career, but because...because I loved doing it. When I hit that Beauty Shot, it’s like--” He gestured vaguely with his hands, “--Like nothing in the world, like everything makes sense for a second. And that’s why I don’t want to lose to _anyone_. Ever.” 

His words ground to a halt and he realized Sami was looking at him strangely. He shrugged, uneasy.

Sami cleared his throat. “That--makes sense to me,” he said. “I mean, I didn’t know. That you’d thought about it so much. That it meant so much to you. That’s--cool. I can appreciate that.” He was looking at Tyler and nodding, and somehow that direct, calm look was making Tyler very uncomfortable. 

Tyler looked away from him, back out at the water. “That means a lot to me,” he said softly. He met Sami’s eyes for a second, then looked down at his hands, which seemed to be oddly fidgety. He took a breath and made himself smile. “Because that speech tested really well with the focus groups, but I’m never sure if I’m hitting the delivery just right.” He raised his eyebrow and looked back at Sami, pouting just so. “Which part made you feel _most_ sympathetic?”

Sami exhaled sharply, shaking his head, and the discomfiting warmth in his eyes faded. “Why do I bother? You are the living end, Breeze. I don’t get you at all.”

He turned and left Tyler on the patio, making it possible to take that selfie at last: silhouetted against the sea, alone and lovely.

 _You and me both, Zayn,_ he thought as he pressed the shutter. His satisfaction at the perfect selfie was marred only slightly by the nagging thought that Sami had never answered his question about why he was out on the patio every night.

* * *

“I have to say, Breeze, that you’re conceited and pig-headed, but you are one of our best wrestlers.” William Regal was standing at the top of the ramp as Tyler stood over Sin Cara, triumphant after a long match. “That’s why I’ve decided that when Rusev shows up here next week, you’re the one who’ll fight him.”

The crowd burst into boos: ungrateful clodhoppers all. Tyler didn’t care; he stared at Regal with joy kindling in his heart. This was it, his big chance! If he could beat the Bulgarian juggernaut, there would be no way the Authority (or whoever was currently in charge) could ignore him after.

Grabbing his phone, he took a quick picture of himself, hair shoved back to frame his delighted face: _Rusev better watch out! The Prince of Pretty will prove himself soon!_

Everything was going his way at last.

* * *

“Tyler, Tyler, Tyler!” Bayley couldn’t have bounced more if she were on her pogo stick. “You versus Rusev! I’m so excited!”

“You’ll knock ‘im right on his Putin!” Enzo enthused as they headed for the minivan.

“Enzo, that’s terrible,” said Charlotte through a chorus of groans.

“What? What? Why you all Russian to judge me? Ow! Why’d you do that, Cass?” he added, rubbing his head and looking reproachfully at his friend.

“Rusev’s still unbeaten,” Sami said as he got into the passenger-side seat he’d grudgingly settled into using. “What makes you think you’ll be the first to manage it?”

“Sour grapes,” Tyler said, starting the car. “You’re just jealous that Regal didn’t pick _you_.”

“Hm. Maybe I am at that, a little,” said Sami. “It’s a great opportunity.” He shrugged. “I’ll make my own opportunities.”

“Guys! Guys, guys, guys guys guys,” announced Enzo. “We gotta have a big strategy session for the Breezerooni.” ( _”Please_ stop calling me that,” sighed Tyler, but Enzo ignored him). “We help him train for the next week, we all scout this Rusev guy, and then the night before, we’ll have a big strategy session, pool our information, come up with the best ways to beat him. BADDA BOOM! That bully won’t stand a chance!”

“Oh, come on, Charlotte,” Bayley pleaded to her friend, who was rolling her eyes. “You’ve been giving me so many tips and advice, I’m sure you can help Tyler too. It’ll be fun! Like a slumber party, but with wrestling!”

“All the best slumber parties have wrestling, if ya know what I mean,” said Enzo. Charlotte gave him a look. “Because...discussing wrestling strategies in pajamas is a lot of fun?” he finished.

“I have some ideas,” said Hideo. “I ask Finn’s advice too. We beat this guy together.”

“I won’t need your help to beat him,” Tyler pointed out, but they were all making plans and ignoring him. Bayley was offering to buy a popcorn popper so they’d have snacks during the session, Charlotte was assigning specific matches for people to watch and analyze in preparation, Cass was looking up Rusev’s bio and reading chunks of it out loud, speculating about psychology.

“Looks like you’re going to get help whether you want it or not,” Sami said quietly from the passenger side.

Tyler shot him a sour look, but he had to admit that having a group of people all looking out for him and wanting him to succeed felt...kind of good. Were they all Wannabreeze now? It didn’t feel quite like a fan club, though. It felt like...something different. He wasn’t sure what the word was.

Well, he had time. It would come to him.

* * *

“ _So_ good to see you, Breeze,” said William Regal. “Are you ready to take on Rusev tomorrow?”

Tyler held up a hand for silence as he took a quick picture of himself. _Ready to take on Rusev tomorrow! #NXT #mmmgorgeous._ “You can check my Twitter for the answer,” he said.

“I’ll take your word for it,” drawled Regal. “Now, Breeze, you understand that this match is very important.”

“Of course it is. It’s my ticket to a spot on Raw.”

There was a small, quiet sound of grinding teeth. “I mean it’s important to all of NXT as well,” Regal said after it stopped. “I very much want you to win this match. So I’ve decided to add...a little incentive. If you defeat Rusev, your home will be your own once more.”

Tyler could hardly believe what he was hearing. His two dearest dreams wrapped into one gorgeous package! “No more house guests?”

Regal nodded.

“No more pasta sauce on my ceilings? No more threats of hugging? _No more uggos in my mirrors?”_ Tyler spun in a quick circle, unable to contain his glee. “Oh, Mr. Regal, _thank you_! When I’m headlining Wrestlemania, I’ll be sure to take a moment to thank all the little people who helped me make it there, and I will make _sure_ your name is on the list.”

“Please,” said Regal, “Just go away.”

As Tyler strode down the hall, whistling his theme song, even his boots seemed to be swishing more jauntily than usual. Everything was going right for him: soon his house would be his own again, soon he would be on his way to superstardom. Best of all, _his unwelcome guests were unwittingly going to help him get rid of them!_ Tyler hugged himself with delight at the realization that everyone would be giving him pointers and tips tonight, not knowing they were only assisting in their ignominious ejection from his house and from his life. Revenge would at last be his: sweet, sweet revenge for pogo sticks and spilled quinoa and off-key singing and _weeks_ of ruined selfies.

Oh, life was good indeed.

* * *

His theme song was still looping in his head as he got out of his shower and glanced at the clock. Eight forty-five, almost time for the strategy session with his chump coaches. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled: _tomorrow you’ll be free, gorgeous._ He pulled on some mauve tights and a black mink vest and wandered out of the bathroom, scrubbing at his damp hair with his towel. 

In the living room, Charlotte was setting up a large laptop so everyone would be able to see the screen. Bayley was making popcorn and chattering with Enzo. Hideo seemed to be...pinning diagrams and charts to the wall? Cass was taping Enzo and Bayley; he waved at Tyler as Tyler came in. “Recording this for posteriority!” he announced. “The first war room meeting of the Future Legends House!”

Tyler looked at all the activity, all of his despised uggo parasites bustling about all unawares, helping him win the match that would make him a free man, and gloated to himself.

Or he tried to, but there was an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. It was like the kind of nausea he felt when he saw a really ugly person, but...different, a sort of twisting roiling knot of unpleasantness. Was it food poisoning from Enzo’s latest cooking? But nobody else seemed to be feeling any ill effects. They all looked…

They looked happy. They looked like they liked being here. They looked like they were enjoying themselves. The mirrors spangling his walls were full of them, all reflected back in different fractured fragments, smiling and laughing and--and _helping him._

And out on the patio, in the darkness, Sami Zayn was standing and looking at the sky.

Frowning, Tyler tossed his towel into a hamper and wandered out, still running his fingers through his damp hair. “Zayn?”

Sami turned and looked at him as he came out. He pointed with his bearded chin to the living room, buzzing with enthusiasm. “They look like they’re having fun.”

Tyler shrugged. “I guess.”

“They really want to help you win.”

Tyler shrugged again. 

Sami looked at him, his eyes narrowed. “I see why you always keep your hair pulled back into that stupid ponytail,” he said. “It’s because you actually look almost like a nice guy with it down. You don’t look like someone who’d use people and throw them away.”

 _Oh._ “You know,” Tyler said.

Sami nodded. “Regal told me.”

“Why would he do that?”

Sami shrugged. “Beats me. Why does Regal do anything? Maybe he just wanted to see what I’d do.”

“Are you...going to tell them?”

Contempt didn't make Sami's face any prettier. “There’s a good chance you’ll lose tomorrow anyway, and then they’ll never have to know how you were willing to abuse their trust." He laughed, a short and humorless bark. "Maybe I'm no better than them--you know what, before Regal talked to me, I was almost hoping you'd win. Just because I thought you were a good wrestler and deserved it. Now I hope you lose, because I'm willing to be stuck with you for another month just to save them from realizing how some arrogant prick used their goodwill against them."

"Well, I won't lose." That had sounded snappier and less petulant in his head, he thought as he turned to go.

"You asked me the other day why I came out here every night," Sami said. Tyler paused in mid-turn (not a flounce, it was definitely not a flounce). "I never did tell you, did I?" He didn't wait for Tyler's answer. "I come out to look at the stars."

"The stars?" Tyler wrinkled his nose. "What about them?"

"I like to look up at them and just...feel how deep they go. Feel how small I am compared to them. How my heart is just one little speck in the universe, one tiny point of light." He was looking up at the sky, that lopsided smile on his face again. "Keeps things in perspective."

"I don't like to look at the stars," Tyler muttered, not following his gaze. 

“Of course you don’t,” said Sami, “Because you don’t have any perspective. You don’t want to be reminded that you’re not the center of the universe.” He stepped closer to Tyler, close enough that Tyler could kick him. “But you know what? I think you keep working so hard to be a jerk, and I don’t think you want to be. I don’t think you realize you don’t _have_ to be.” He was close enough that Tyler could punch him now. “You just need to stop and raise your horizons a little.” He reached out and took a handful of Tyler’s loose hair, a strangely gentle motion, and Tyler was too surprised to do anything but inhale as Sami tugged to tilt his face up to the sky. 

“Look up at the stars now and then,” said Sami’s voice next to his ear, and for a startled, frozen, endless moment Tyler Breeze did just that.

Then he exhaled sharply and pulled away. _“Don’t touch my hair,”_ he snarled, pulling the loose strands back into their habitual ponytail with a savage yank, tying them back into glossy, controlled, golden perfection. Sami was looking at him: not angrily, not mockingly, not cheerfully. Just looking at him. Tyler tried to think of something withering to say, but after a terribly awkward moment he just glared and spun on his heel to go back inside.

As he opened the door, Enzo put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply, and everyone in the room fell silent. “This here is the Breeze-Rusev War Council!” he yelled. 

“How you doing?” noted Cass.

“We’re here to help our man Tyler defeat the Bulgarian Badass! They say it’s never been done! They say our man Tyler can’t do it! But Cass and I are here to tell you a secret ‘bout Rusev, and we’re gonna spell it out for you--the man is--”

“S! A! W! F! T! SAWWWWWFT!” yelled everyone in the room but Tyler and Sami. Tyler looked at them as they laughed and cheered, and that sour feeling in his stomach seemed to intensify. Had Enzo poisoned him with all that rich food? He felt like he was going to be sick.

“Now, the main problem is that killer hold of his,” Enzo went on. “No one ain’t never broken the Accolade."

Charlotte counted on her fingers. “That’s three negatives, so I think he’s looped back to right. You think _you_ can, Tyler?”

“Of course he can,” Bayley said staunchly. “Tyler’s twice the wrestler he is.”

“Considering he weighs more than three hundred pounds, Tyler’s literally closer to half the wrestler he is,” Cass noted.

"But the Breeze-man's got _heart_ , Cass!" Enzo shadow boxed around the room. "He floats like butterfly and stings like a bee, he's got guts and moxie, and you can't! Teach! That!"

"You can't teach three hundred pounds, neither," said Cass. "My advice is keep your distance, don't lock up."

"You've got longer legs and a better kick, don't let him wear you out. Try to drop him fast with the Beauty Shot if you can," said Charlotte. “I’ve put together a video of other wrestlers fighting him and I think you’ll see that long-distance kicks are your safest bet.”

"That should be quite helpful," Sami said. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "Don't you think that'll be helpful, Tyler?"

"Don't forget about Lana!" chimed in Bayley. "She's sure to try and distract you. She'll probably try to make you jealous, but remember she's nowhere near as pretty as you."

"Yes, yes, I'm _aware_ of all this," Tyler said through his nausea. "Especially that I'm prettier than Lana, _obviously_." He spotted himself in a mirror and for a moment he didn't recognize himself: his face was pale, his jaw set. There was a sharp crease between his perfect eyebrows. He rubbed at it, but it refused to go away. "Obviously," he muttered.

"Here's another thing," said Enzo. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, but you got a tendency, when an opponent breaks your pin, to...well..."

"To throw a temper tantrum?" Sami said. He wasn't looking at Tyler, he was staring off somewhere else. That was somehow a relief.

"Well, to lose your cool a bit," Enzo said as Bayley threw Sami a quick, reproachful glance: _don't be mean!_ "I totally understand, you know, kinda getting caught up in the heat of the moment, but it leaves you open, and a guy like Rusev could take advantage. So just, you know, keep your head and don't waste ya time on regrets."

"No regrets," Cass intoned, cutting a swath in the air with a raised finger.

Hideo pointed to one of the diagrams he had posted on the wall: a figure showing different weak points on the human body. He had marked the fingers and neck in red. "If he gets you in Accolade," he said carefully, "You need...find weakness in grip. Get fingers between his hand, your throat, twist. It can be broken, I think. I studied it."

Enzo clapped him on the back. "We got faith in you! You can do this!"

“We’ll be behind you all the way!” said Bayley. 

Charlotte was shaking her head, smiling. “Let’s go over the tapes again and see what other weaknesses we can find.”

“I practice with you, okay?” Hideo said. “I show you best way to break Accolade. My secret.”

The sinkhole of unpleasantness in Tyler’s stomach seemed to be shifting upward to settle somewhere right over his breastbone, pressing. He didn’t think he was going to be sick anymore. Now he was starting to feel like he might die of it. It was a horrible feeling. It was--It was an _ugly_ feeling. Instinctively, he looked for a mirror, an anchor, something stable and reliable, but recoiled when he found himself looking into the reflection of Sami's eyes--Sami, who had been watching him obliquely through his own mirrors. His expression was impossible for Tyler to describe, as it was neither envy, nor admiration, nor hatred, nor anger. Tyler knew all of those looks, and this was none of them. If he could have comprehended it, he would have called it "pity." 

But all he comprehended about it was that it hurt like hell.

Tyler felt his eyes starting to water, and that stinging sensation was the worst, the most unbearable, the _utter last straw_.

“Get out,” he rasped as Cass and Enzo debated psychological tactics. No one seemed to hear him, and he had to clear his throat and try again. “Get. Out.”

“What?” Bayley was staring at him, and the chatter in the room slowly died out. 

“I don’t--I don’t need your help. I don’t need _advice_ from any of you. I don’t _want_ your help, you bunch of--pathetic losers!” 

Bayley blinked, and a terrible hurt flickered behind her nervous smile. “Don’t joke, Tyler,” she said. Next to her, Sami had straightened up from his slouch against the wall. Like everyone else, he was staring at Tyler directly now. Everyone else, however, looked confused. Sami looked faintly surprised. And wary. But at least that horrible, grotesque look was gone, the one that said "It must be so awful to be you all the time."

Strangely, Tyler felt less sick all of a sudden, though his eyes were still threatening to water. He charged ahead: “Joke? You think I’m _joking_? How am I supposed to focus on this match with the lot of you here yammering your stupid platitudes in my ears? I’m sick of you all--sick of your voices and your ugly, ugly faces, and--I want you out of here! Right now!” He ripped one of Hideo’s diagrams off the wall and tossed it at him, then another. “If I win, I’m winning without your ‘help,’ do you understand me? None of you have helped me with this! _Get out of my house!_ ”

Enzo was looking at him, head tilted slightly to the side, puzzled. “But...I thought we was buddies now,” he said. “You don’t mean all that, do you? I mean, you’re under a lot of stress.” He nodded, gathering steam. “You’re nervous and stressed, but that’s okay, we’re here for ya, man! We’ll--”

“--‘Zo.” Cass stood behind him, carrying their suitcases. A forlorn leopard-print sock stuck out on one side. He put down the suitcases and held out his empty hand. “Zo, how many dimes I got here?”

Enzo rubbed his nose loudly, then said, “Zero dimes, Cass.”

“If we had a dime for every time we gave a damn what someone like Tyler Breeze thought about us, then we’d have--”

“--Zero dimes,” said Bayley. She took Cass’s empty hand, then pulled Enzo into a three-way hug. “We’d have zero dimes.” She looked back at Tyler. “We’ll leave you alone and let you focus, then. I'm sure Regal won't find out if we don't stay here for one night.” She almost smiled. “For what it’s worth, I still think you deserve to win. Even without our help."

Sami was packed already as well--since he had never unpacked, it wasn't hard. His face was unreadable as he stood there in the living room waiting for the others, and suddenly Tyler didn't want to be there anymore. He didn't want to watch them pack, and he didn't want to watch them leave. He turned his back on them and strode--not fled, strode--to his room.

He could hear everyone getting their things together: at first the mood was glum, but soon enough Enzo and Cass were making everyone laugh, and the chatter was back to its normal levels. Bayley was singing that annoying song ( _Ain't it good to be on your own? / Ain't it fun you can't count on no one?_ ) and Sami and Charlotte were talking about whether to spend the night at the Days Inn or the Best Western before heading back to Orlando in the morning.

The door clicked shut quietly on their voices, and a few minutes later Tyler heard the minivan start up and drive away. The house was silent. He was alone.

He walked out into the living room, with only his reflection for company once more. The kitchen was as clean as if no one had ever been there. Tyler took a long, deep breath. If he beat Rusev tomorrow, it would be this way forever. He'd be heading up to Raw in no time, and his life would be back to normal: gorgeous and shining and perfect. He looked around, nodding, watching his hundreds of reflections nod back at him.

Tyler Breeze stood in the middle of his living room and looked into his mirrors and saw nothing but himself, and himself, and himself, stretching into infinity like an endless galaxy of stars.

* * *

The bell rang, and Tyler danced backwards away from Rusev, keeping out of reach of his huge grasping hands. He should have been nervous, he should have been excited, but instead he felt strangely cool and detached. He was better than this guy: not just prettier, but _better_ , and he knew it.

Rusev moved forward, and Tyler got out of the way fast, jumping over the ropes onto the apron: despite his bulk, Rusev was dangerously agile. As Rusev changed trajectory, Tyler jumped back over the ropes--the angle was wrong for the Beauty Shot, but he delivered a textbook-perfect enzuigiri kick that sent Rusev sprawling backwards. _End it quick!_ He leaped forward to pin Rusev, and for two breathless beats he thought he would have the win, but then Rusev wrenched his shoulders up, throwing him into a backwards somersault. Tyler sprang to his feet, furious: he'd been so close! He wanted to stamp his feet, wanted to rail at the unfairness of it all--but no, he couldn't afford to lose his focus. He took a deep breath and went to a corner to regroup.

Behind him, from the audience, there came a bellowed “HOW YOU DOING, BREEZEROONI?”

He didn’t have time to look over as Rusev was coming back at him, head lowered like a bull. He heard Cass yelling too: “Look out!”

Bayley’s voice joined in: “Lana!”

Tyler looked down to see Lana about to yank on his foot and keep him in place so Rusev could plaster him against the turnbuckle. Stamping at her grasping hand, he danced out of the way and Rusev managed to knock her down instead of him. She jumped up, shrieking in Russian, and Tyler noted that her nice smooth bun had started to come undone. His ponytail was rather the worse for wear, so he enjoyed grinning at her briefly as he got to a corner away from the two of them.

There was a brief moment in which Rusev was apologizing to Lana when Tyler could catch his breath. He looked out at the audience where the calls had come from and there they were, all in their ring gear from earlier matches: Cass and Enzo, Bayley and Charlotte and Hideo, cheering and jumping up and down. Sami was there too, arms crossed, watching the match with a frown on his face. 

“Prince Pretty!” screamed Bayley through cupped hands, and the chant was picked up and spread through the arena.

Tyler felt a strange urge to wave to them, but the impulse died when a red-faced Rusev came at him like a freight train and there was nothing to do but dodge. They battled around the ring, and everything seemed to be going Tyler’s way until suddenly Rusev got through his guard--a fluke, lucky grab--and threw him onto the mat, stomach-down.

 _No!_ Tyler tried to roll away, but Rusev stomped him in the small of the back, driving the breath from his lungs. He dimly felt Rusev grabbing his arms, pulling him into the Accolade, locking his hands under his chin and bending his head back, and it was all over, it was all--

Wait.

He heard Lana’s cries of joy, felt Rusev’s hot breath panting in his ear, but through the pain of his body being stretched he could feel something else.

A flaw in the Accolade. 

It was there, right where Hideo had said it would be. All he needed to do was get his hand there and twist, and he would be the first to break the Accolade. After that it would be easy to deliver the Beauty Shot to the stunned Rusev, and be the first ever to pin him. The first ever. His career would be made. No one would ever underestimate him again.

And his house would be empty once more.

No more of Enzo’s pasta and bellowing. No more of Cass’s low-key humor.

No more of Bayley’s wacky balloon men or hugging. No more of Charlotte’s wry putdowns.

No more of Hideo’s earnest English. No more of Sami’s quiet presence in the passenger-side seat.

No more.

Tyler Breeze lifted his hand.

And then he tapped out against Rusev’s meaty thigh. He tapped out.

He heard the bell ring, heard the crowd groan in disappointment.

With a growl of feral anger, Rusev settled more solidly on his back and tightened the Accolade, and Tyler felt that brief weakness in the grip vanish as fresh pain stabbed through his body.

He couldn’t breathe anymore.

 _That’s right_ , said a small resigned voice in his head as he struggled to drag air into his burning lungs, _Rusev doesn’t release the Accolade unless Lana tells him to. Pretty dumb to forget that little detail, Tyler._

Rusev was forcing his head back and his vision was dancing with stars, going dim around the edges. He was going to die in the ring, he realized. He was going to die with three hundred pounds of ugly Bulgarian on his back, throttling him.

 _How very not gorgeous,_ he thought.

There was a screaming sound, growing louder. There was a lot of noise that he was frankly too busy suffocating to process, and then the hands choking him were gone and he was dragging in a deep cool breath of wonderful, beautiful air. 

He rolled over and looked up just in time to see Sami Zayn charge into the ring, take a kick directly to the face from Rusev, and crumple to the mat. After him came Bayley, who leaped onto Rusev’s back and clung there like a demented koala bear, screaming and pummeling him. Enzo got between Rusev and the prone Sami, yelling at him and jabbing punches upward; Rusev glared down at him and swung--and Enzo ducked just as Cass hit Rusev with the big boot. Bayley slid off his back as he went over, kicking him in the shorts so he doubled over on all fours.

Tyler scrambled to his feet amid the chaos. Outside the ring, Charlotte was suplexing Lana. Hideo was up on the turnbuckle; Cass and Bayley got out of the way just in time for him to do a perfect frog splash onto Rusev, knocking him to the mat. Hideo rolled away as Rusev came up in a blind rage, arms flailing like some kind of wounded cave troll, wide open and defenseless.

“Tyler!” croaked Sami, blood streaming from his nose. “Beauty Shot!”

It was a particularly gorgeous Beauty Shot--Tyler loved all of them equally, of course, but this one seemed somehow more beautiful than most. His boots connected with Rusev’s face with a satisfying _thunk_ , and Rusev teetered, then toppled.

“How you doing!” screamed Enzo at the twitching Bulgarian. “That Beauty Shot musta missed, 'cuz you're still ugly!” 

"Good one, 'Zo," said Cass.

Enzo leaned down in Rusev’s face, pointing at him. “That’s what you get when you mess with our friend, buster!”

“You tell ‘im, Zo!” Cass announced.

“Tyler? Are you okay?” Bayley’s face swam in his vision. She looked miserable. “Oh Tyler, I’m so sorry.”

“Wha--” The word came out a hoarse rasp, and he swallowed hard.

“You lost!” Bayley wailed. “We wanted you to win so much. Did you hear us cheering for you?”

Tyler nodded. He felt very strange indeed, like he was filled with some kind of effervescent light. As the crowd cheered, they all carefully made their way out of the ring and up the ramp together. Halfway up, Tyler staggered and Charlotte threw an arm around him, holding him up.

“I have to tell you,” he said. It was important to say it. “Regal. He told me that--”

“--That if you won, he’d have us out of the house,” Charlotte said. “Sami told us last night, after you kicked us out.”

“You knew?” Tyler tried to breathe in. It sounded like a sob. “But you were--you were cheering for me to win.”

“You idiot,” Charlotte said. “We’re your friends. Of course we wanted you to win.”

“But you’re stuck with us a while longer,” said Enzo. “Sorry about that, Breezerooni!”

They were at the top of the ramp now. They turned around to take in the crowd, on its feet and applauding deliriously. Bayley looked at him. “I’m gonna hug you, you know,” she said.

“I’m...I’m way too tired to stop you, I guess,” he said.

She put her arms around him, very gently. “Aw, Tyler,” she said. “Why didn’t you just tell us what Regal said? We’d have helped you anyway, you know.”

“You didn’t have to chase us off,” said Charlotte, and to Tyler’s surprise she hugged him too.

“Hugs for everyone!” bellowed Enzo, throwing his arms around Tyler then quickly turning to Bayley for another.

Cass gave him a cautious one-armed hug. “Just don’t make Enzo sad again and we’re good,” he said. ("Wha?" said Enzo in mid-hug. "When'd that happen?")

Hideo thumped him on the back. “But I don’t understand,” he said as they moved off the ramp and into the backstage area. “I really thought you had chance to break the Accolade.”

“I did too,” said Sami. His face was a mess: smeared with blood, lip split at the corner. One eye was rapidly blackening. He looked at Tyler. “I thought so too.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Tyler snapped. “And for God’s sake clean up your ugly mug.” He pulled off one of his gloves and handed it to Sami. 

Sami looked at it, bemused, and then dabbed gingerly at his lip with it, wincing. “You’re crying,” he said in a low voice to Tyler.

Tyler wiped at his own face. “So what?” he said. “I just lost the biggest match of my life, lost my big chance to impress the anonymous Raw GM, lost the chance to get rid of you bozos--those are all fair things to cry about!” He cleared his throat, still feeling strange: light-headed, sharp-edged. He didn’t actually feel sad at all. It was very odd. “You cried when you lost to Cesaro,” he reminded Sami.

“Yeah, but that was different. That was because I--” Sami broke off and looked at him. Then he reached out and dragged Tyler into a hug. 

Tyler gulped hard, and for a moment he leaned into the hug, letting Sami pat him on the back. When he pulled away, he shuddered elaborately. “ _Really,_ Sami,” he said. “You’re going to have to learn how to wax. It’s like hugging a carpet.”

Sami threw back his head and laughed.

* * *

Tyler eased into the minivan driver’s seat with a sigh. Next to him, Sami was opening up the glove compartment and extracting something: one of the white luchador masks he had shoved there weeks ago. He chuckled, gesturing at his battered face. “Okay,” he said, “I admit it, I’ll probably be improved by wearing one of these for now.”

He was opening it up to pull over his head when Tyler reached out and took it from him. “That’s okay,” said Tyler. “You don’t need to do that. You’re...you’re okay.” At Sami’s look, he reached deep and summoned some reserve of snark that he didn’t even know he had: “I mean, when you start off so ugly you’ve already hit absolute zero, really. It’s possible the bruises even lend some rakish charm.”

“Rakish charm.” Sami was looking at him, that almost-smile tugging at his blood-crusted lip.

“I said it was _possible._ Not probable.”

Sami rolled his eyes. “So are we headed home?”

“Actually…” Tyler glanced at the rear-view mirror, where Hideo was talking to Bayley about _joshi puroresu._ Enzo was trying to get Charlotte’s attention as she read, and Cass was trying to head off that impending disaster. “...I was thinking we might go to IHOP,” Tyler finished.

A cheer broke out.

“You go with us?” Hideo asked with an incredulous grin. “Really?”

“Sure,” said Tyler. He raised his phone and positioned it to take them all in. “I mean, _someone’s_ got to make you guys look good,” he said, raising his eyebrow and making his very best duckface.

_Click._


End file.
